


I feel something so wrong doing the right thing

by alexanger



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:58:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: Jefferson is in trouble. There are some interesting allegations, and new rumours have come up that seem to prove he's done something illegal. If the allegations are true, he loses his career.It's time for him to lawyer up.





	1. Chapter 1

Anyone else, in this situation, would be - contrite? Apologetic? Subservient, maybe - but James has never once been any of those things. He tends to treat Thomas like an inferior, more than anything.

“You’ve been found out,” is what he says as he saunters into the office and shuts the door behind him.

“Nothing provable,” Thomas says. “No paper trails -”

“Text records,” says James.

Thomas grunts. “Vague at best. Nothing that would prove anything.”

“You’ve been careless. Sloppy,” James adds.

“Who cares?” says Thomas. “It’s not like I did anything illegal. I did exactly what he asked me to do -”

“You think people are going to _care_ about that? It’s already getting out of hand, you know. If you let it get any further away from you, you’ll never come back from it. Did you know the rumours are influencing the complainant? They’re saying this is going to help their case. They’re probably right. You know as well as I do that if they can sell a sob story, they’ll win the case. If you don’t get a handle on this and you lose the case, you lose the rights and the series deal. You’ll lose _everything_ and I doubt you’ll ever sell again.”

“So I’ll get a lawyer. We’ll figure out how to spin it. Smooth it all over. It’ll be like nothing happened.”

James raises his eyebrows.

“Which means, _you_ will get me a lawyer,” Thomas adds.

“Please,” James prompts.

Thomas rolls his eyes and parrots, “please.”

“I’ll do my best,” says James. “But you need to put all of this nonsense on hold. At least til we find a spin doctor. You get so careless - honestly, no one is as impressed with you as you are. Try to remember that you’re human and you make mistakes, and I get very tired of cleaning them up.”

“Then stop cleaning them up for me. You know I don’t learn anything if you’re always saving my ass,” Thomas says.

“Maybe I’ll let you handle it yourself one of these days,” James snaps, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

“Bye, James,” Thomas grins.

James turns to leave. Just before he pulls the door closed behind him, he says, “you know, you’d be totally fucked without me.”

“Believe me,” Thomas says, “I know.”

 

* * *

 

It’s difficult enough to find a half-decent lawyer that keeps quiet when a situation is delicate; it’s even harder when the client is famous and has a mouth that doesn’t seem to stop running.

James does his best to hunt around. He’s good at going unnoticed; he’s small and sickly enough that most people underestimate him or overlook him entirely. It makes far more sense for him to do the searching instead of Thomas. Thomas is awkward and more self-absorbed than any man has any right to be, and everything he does, now that certain deals are in motion, is scrutinized. There’s no chance of him doing anything without people finding out about it immediately. And in all honesty, he’s likely to just fuck it all up anyway.

The search is difficult but James seems to be making decent headway. He interviews lawyers, reads reviews, and none of them are quite right, but he can sense he’s getting closer. He follows trails, sniffs down recommendations, researches fastidiously.

He starts all his interviews by asking one question: “Have you heard of Thomas Jefferson?” He finds that the answer usually gives him an immediate idea of how well that lawyer would fit for them. Usually the response is somewhere along the lines of, “Yes, I’ve heard about the allegations.”

At that point, James just says thank you and hangs up. There’s no room for error. One little slip and it could cost Thomas his career.

But the longer he takes, the more dire the circumstances get. The media has caught wind of the whole mess - the accusations, the rumours - and time is running out. So James does something he promised himself he wouldn’t do - he turns to Yelp.

It seems like another dead end, until he stumbles upon someone whose reviews all follow the same general thread:

_He doesn’t really say what he means. Vague._

_Slippery. Secretive. Very evasive._

_Never gives you a straight answer._

_Impossible to read._

_This guy is shifty as hell. I don’t think I’d trust him in any other circumstance, but he knows his stuff._

Not only that, but his rating is stellar. It looks like the shifty man knows exactly what he’s doing.

James can’t help smiling at his screen. He picks up the phone, calls the lawyer, asks his question, and for the first time, just receives a simple, “Yes.”

“I’ll be in touch, then,” he says. He means it.

He disconnects and hits the button that speed dials Thomas, and the second the line connects - before Thomas can even say hello - he says, “I found your guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting a new fic is the best idea ever.
> 
> comments and kudos give me the will to live. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com%22)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Believe me, there’s a lot. I’m going to be honest with you,” Thomas begins, but Burr cuts him off.
> 
> “Oh, no. No, no, Mr Jefferson. That’s the last thing a lawyer wants to hear."

Thomas stares levelly across the desk at the lawyer.

“So I assume you’ve heard all about it,” Thomas says.

The lawyer raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.

Thomas clears his throat. “I mean - do you watch the news, Aaron?”

“Burr,” he says.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s keep this professional, Mr Jefferson. No familiarity. Tell me your situation.”

“You really know nothing about it?” Thomas asks.

“This may be a free consultation but that doesn’t mean I’d like to waste the afternoon dancing around and getting nothing done,” Burr says. “Tell me what you need.”

“I’ve been accused of plagiarism,” Thomas says.

Burr hums through his nose.

“So we’re trying to talk through it with the guy, but he’s … well, he’s very persistent. He has to know he’s lying - his work is so beneath my level that it’s laughable to think I would have stolen even a single word from him. My manager, James - you talked to him on the phone - he says the guy’s just in it to try and get some money out of me now that there’s a TV series in the works. I know he’s right, and we can probably breeze through a court case if he pushes us that far - but it’s getting more complicated, and that’s why I’m here.”

“So what is the complication?”

“Someone else came forward,” Thomas. “We have some history, things ended badly - he’s been telling people I had a co-writer.”

“And the rumours compromise your case. The public is becoming unsympathetic.”

“Exactly.”

“Mm.” Burr steeples his fingers and taps his thumbnails against his teeth. “What do you need from me? Do you need me for the accusations, or for public relations?”

“Both, ideally. If you’re the right fit. I need to know you’re not going to talk.”

“What would I possibly have to say?”

“Believe me, there’s a lot. I’m going to be honest with you,” Thomas begins, but Burr cuts him off.

“Oh, no. No, no, Mr Jefferson. That’s the _last_ thing a lawyer wants to hear. The less I know, the better. I have a single question for you. Is there a co-author who currently _wants_ to be credited on the series?”

“Well -”

“No details,” Burr says. “Just answer the question. Yes or no.”

“I mean, there’s some room for -”

“Jefferson.” His voice is sharp.

“I - no,” says Thomas.

The ghost of a smile touches the corners of Burr’s lips. “Then that’s all I really need to know. I’d be happy to take you on as a client.”

“You don’t need any more information?”

“Your books are your intellectual property and if there’s no substance in the rumours, I can manage this for you, no problem. I’ve done far more with far less to back me up.”

“Such as?” Thomas says.

This time, the smile doesn’t just stop at the corners of his lips. Burr’s smile is striking, the same way the sudden appearance of a tarantula or the snarling of a dog is striking. “Believe me,” he says, “you wouldn’t be hiring me if I spilled secrets that easily.”

 

* * *

 

Hamilton picks up on the third ring.

“I knew you’d come crawling back,” he says.

“Yikes,” says Thomas.

“You know you never deserved me -”

“Stop talking about _Hive,”_ Thomas says. “Seriously. You don’t know what this could do to me. Whatever your grudge against me is, whatever I did to make you hate me so much -”

“I don’t hate you. It’s a waste of my time and energy.”

Thomas grits his teeth. He loathes Hamilton’s nasal voice, loathes every single word out of his mouth, loathes the condescension in everything he says. He can imagine Hamilton grinning at the phone. There’s something Thomas wants and of course, of _course_ Hamilton would make him fucking beg for it.

“If you have any decency, you’ll stop,” Thomas says. “Whatever you feel for me. Don’t ruin my career.”

“If _you_ have any decency, you’ll come clean. It’s what he would have wanted.”

That’s what really gets his back up. “You don’t know _shit_ about what he would have wanted. You didn’t know him like I did,” Thomas says, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He refuses to let them fall, refuses to let his voice catch - he won’t give Hamilton the satisfaction.

“Ever heard of honesty, Thomas? You could try it sometime. I think it’d make you look a little better to your adoring fans. Maybe not so adoring, now.”

“Please just stop,” Thomas says.

“No,” says Hamilton. “Anything else?”

Thomas just hangs up, sets his phone down, and puts his face in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Most manager-client relationships maintain at least _some_ degree of professionalism, but all that flew out the window long ago. Thomas and James are far closer than most other authors and their managers. Of course, that’s what comes of hiring your best friend.

James brings a few craft beers to Thomas’s apartment, lets himself in, and settles beside Thomas on the couch. “How’d it go?” he asks. He hands Thomas a beer and pops one open for himself.

“Went pretty well, I think. I don’t know if I like him all that much, but he seems to keep stuff under his hat. I couldn’t get anything out of him,” Thomas says. “He’s secretive. I can appreciate that.”

“You don’t need to like him. You just need to be able to work with him,” James says.

“No, I know. I get that. I’m just hoping I don’t wind up hating him, you know? I can’t tell if he’s just defensive or if he’s actually unpleasant. He cut me off a lot -”

“You never shut up, is why,” James tells him.

“Fuck off,” says Thomas, but his tone is light and amiable. He shoves his shoulder against James and opens his own beer.

“He gave me a call to follow up with me after you two met,” James says. “We’re putting together a plan to handle the rumours, which takes a lot of it off of your plate. You must have charmed him because he seemed to like you well enough.”

“How do you know he liked me? He doesn’t seem like the type who does small talk.”

“He isn’t,” James says. “I can tell.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“What did you get up to after your meeting? More scripts? I know you had that appointment with the director.”

“Yeah. Meeting went well. Then I had a bunch of free time - so I called Hamilton,” says Thomas.

James immediately turns to glare at him. “You didn’t.”

“I did -”

“That’s the _last_ thing you should be doing, Thomas. You know that’s not going to end well.”

“He didn’t pick up,” Thomas lies. He’s hot with embarrassment and he shifts his gaze to his hands.

“That’s the best possible thing that could have happened. Stop calling him! You’re not fixing anything by trying to contact him and he’s going to think you’re not over him. You _know_ his ego is big enough without you swelling his head -”

“I’m obviously not into him anymore. You know how it ended.”

James grimaces. “That’s not what he’s going to think. And heaven forbid he takes _that_ public. You’ve worked too hard to have that history spill, too.”

“Okay, so I’ll stop calling,” Thomas says.

“No, you won’t,” James says.

“No, I won’t,” Thomas agrees. Before James can reply, he turns on the TV and pretends to be totally absorbed in Judge Judy.

That’s probably the worst thing he could be watching, all things considered. Thomas watches people bicker and toss accusations back and forth, and he feels sick to his stomach, thinking about the case he’s facing now. One wrong move, and everything he’s created becomes nothing. It took him nearly a decade just to get _Hive_ together and into the hands of a publisher willing to print it, and to think that might all come to nothing -

James gently takes the remote and changes the channel. Thomas could have sworn he wasn’t showing any distress, but it doesn’t matter; James can glance at him, even just for a moment, and understand exactly what’s on his mind. He’s always been curiously good at reading people.

Thomas doesn’t say thank you, but it doesn’t matter. James will know he’s grateful.

 

* * *

 

“What do I need to do to make you stop?” Thomas asks.

“I’m just telling the truth, Thomas,” says Hamilton. “Are you actually going to say anything new, or are you just harassing me now? Is that what you’ve come to? You can’t stop me being honest.”

“You don’t have any proof.”

“No,” says Hamilton. “But that isn’t the important thing, is it?”

“Why do you want to screw me over so badly, Alex?” Thomas asks. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“You should have treated him better,” Hamilton tells him.

And Thomas says the same thing he always says. He says, “I’m doing exactly what he asked me.”

The unusual thing is that the more he says it, the more it feels like he’s lying.

 

* * *

 

James is right. He needs to stop calling Hamilton. He needs to stop _obsessing._ It doesn’t do anyone, least of all him, any good to keep dwelling on this. The more he thinks about it, the worse his anxiety gets; it’s already hard enough to sleep at night. He’s done too much and come too far to let it slip away from him but maybe there isn’t a way out. The longer he perseverates, the more pessimistic he gets. It doesn’t seem like there’s any solution.

It’s not so much about losing the money or the fame, although he will miss those if they go. He likes the way people look at him. He loves the book signings and the attention and the comfortable lifestyle. Really, though, the most painful part would be breaking his promises.

_Hive_ was a decade in the making and a struggle from the start, and Thomas remembers all the nights he spent awake chasing down a metaphor, all the sudden twists even he didn’t see coming, all the little moments where time would stop and he’d ride the waves of words until they were done flowing through him. He remembers what it was to feel the electricity in his fingertips as he hunched over his computer, wrists stiff and creaking. He was so far away from everything then; the only thing that could really come anywhere near him was -

He shoves the thought out of his mind. He has other books now - _Hive_ was just the start. There’s a whole series now, and a TV series in the works, and he has scripts to go over.

Thomas has demanded to be involved with the casting and the writing and the general aesthetics of the entire project. He wonders if he’ll do a good enough job, or if he’s lost sight of what it was all supposed to look like.

He’d never been big enough to contain the _Hive_ universe by himself.

There are people who say the magic went out of the series after the first book. They say that the rest of the series doesn’t have the same spark. Maybe they’re right; it’s bleaker, darker, altered in some indescribable way. Dystopian sci-fi, as a genre, isn’t exactly the most cheerful thing, but there was more hope in _Hive_ than in the rest of the _Anthophila_ series. Maybe not hope, really - maybe there was more life. It makes sense that something in them would have died after the first book.

The script writer loses track of the tone so often that Thomas considers firing him and finding another. He doesn’t know much about writing for screen, but he does know that his characters - all the people he pulled from thin air and the one he knew so well - are better people than they’re being made out to be. It’s distressing to see what they’re becoming; that isn’t what Gil would have wanted. Gil understood tenderness and compassion. At his core, he was goodness and light. He was the humanity in the words and Thomas was just the messenger.

Thomas can see the characters warping and changing, and he wonders if he is enough to guide them back to themselves, or if he’ll lose that along with everything else.

 

* * *

 

“If you care about him, you’ll drop this,” Thomas says.

“If you care about him, you’ll admit what you did,” Hamilton shoots back.

What else is there to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos refill my water. please, im so dehydrated. chat to me at [ alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)
> 
> thanks to my [beta reader / super important friend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pensiveVisionary) for being the best


	3. Chapter 3

“Thank you,” Thomas says to the young actor watching him with hopeful eyes. “We'll be in touch.”

The casting director knows that phrasing. Thankfully, she waits until the actor has left the room to tear into Thomas. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Eliza asks the second the door clicks shut. The exasperation is clear in her voice.

“Not the right look,” Jefferson says. He’s looking for someone specific - tall, dazzling smile, big hands with long clever fingers, deep brown eyes that crinkle at the corners -

“You keep rejecting these incredible actors, and we’re running out of time,” Eliza says. “We’re supposed to start reading soon, unless you want to delay the project even more. You know there’s already hesitation about going ahead.”

When he’d met her, Eliza had seemed sweet. Maybe a little too soft, a little too gentle, but kind, with a good heart. Now Thomas is almost afraid of her. He towers over her, but when she stares him down, he feels tiny. Pocket sized. Miniature.

“I'll know him when I see him,” Thomas insists. “I don't want to have to compromise on my main character. He has to be perfect.”

“Well, you're probably going to  _ have  _ to compromise. I can tell you're looking for someone who looks exactly like you - what is he, a self insert? We aren't going to cast  _ you  _ for the role and it's not exactly easy to find someone that looks like you. Your requirements were three things: Must be a person of colour, must be tall, must be, and I quote, ‘shredded.’ How many actors have we had that fit all three but get rejected anyway? You're not making this easy on me,” Eliza snaps. “We've had plenty of incredible auditions. And yes, I understand this is important to you, but we need to start reading scripts, like,  _ yesterday.  _ Angelica won't be happy.”

Ah, of course. The director. The one who always seems to be telling him off for  _ something.  _ Of course she won’t be happy.

“I just don't want to have to settle on the most important role. Surely you can understand that,” Thomas insists. 

“I get it,” Eliza sighs. “I know you want this to be everything you imagined, but we have to make sacrifices along the way. We can’t have everything we want. Thomas, I  _ know  _ that this series is your baby, but babies disappoint us sometimes. You don’t have kids, do you?”

“No,” says Thomas. “I like my disposable income.”

“I have four, myself. They aren’t everything I wanted either.” She pauses, then adds, “don’t tell my ex I said that. He’d take me to court over custody again.”

“He sounds like a real piece of work,” says Thomas. Eliza laughs.

“You know, if he knew I was working on this, he'd lose his shit. He'd probably file for a second divorce.”

Thomas frowns. “Why, does he not like  _ Hive?” _

“Oh, honey,” says Eliza. “He's your biggest critic. Didn't you know?”

And suddenly Thomas realizes exactly who she's talking about, and he goes cold. He’d thought he was doing well on his therapy but his anxiety is blowing up, so big he can barely contain it, and he feels his breath hitching in his chest.

“This is definitely conflict of interest, or something like that. You can't be working on my show if you have that connection -”

“I don’t have anything against  _ Hive _ . If anything, the fact that my ex husband hates it makes me like it more.”

“But - listen, you can’t be working on this show, then,” says Thomas.

“You've signed all the contracts and you're not the one with hiring rights, you know. You can't fire me. Besides, you think I believe him?” Eliza says. “I know you by now, Thomas. I know that at the very least you've got  _ some  _ sense of morality. If you had a co author you'd have credited them.”

“Yeah,” says Thomas. 

He can't meet her eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Please,” says Thomas.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me,” says Hamilton.

“Is this because he spent the last years with me?” Thomas asks. 

There's a moment of silence, and then Alex is screaming into the phone. “You don't know what living with this is like! You don't understand a fucking thing! Fuck you, fuck your condescending attitude, fuck you and your  _ healthy  _ body and fuck the fact that  _ he _ died and  _ you  _ didn't!”

“I'm sorry,” Thomas says. He's never heard Alex so angry before. “I didn't mean it -”

“Yes, you did mean it, and no, you're not sorry,” says Alex. “Not yet.”

This time, Alex is the one to hang up.

 

* * *

 

“So the premise,” Thomas explains, “is that bees are fake.”

“Bees are fake,” Burr echoes.

“Yeah. Like … they’re a government conspiracy. Bees are fake, they’re a government conspiracy, and they’re evil. So the real bees need to be rescued. I have this scrappy gang of plucky youngsters who find the real bees and kick the shit out of the fake ones, who, once again, are evil as fuck.”

Burr doesn’t laugh at him, not exactly, but the corners of his lips twitch.

Thomas is immediately defensive. “Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but they laughed at Harry Potter too. Would I really be where I am if it wasn’t a good premise? Shitty books don’t become famous.”

“Fifty Shades,” says Burr. “My Immortal doesn’t count as a book, but -”

“Okay, yeah, I get your point - but the hype for those died down. The hype for  _ Hive  _ keeps growing. It deserves it.”

“Not that you’re biased or anything,” Burr says.

“Hey. Listen. I earned this attitude,” says Thomas. “You of all people should know how high profile I am. It’s not every day a plagiarism claim hits the evening news. I’m the next Tolkein! You know what? When  _ you  _ write a series one fraction as good as  _ Anthophila, _ and when you get chased down on the street to have  _ your  _ books signed, you get to judge me. Where’s your TV series deal? Where’s your Pulitzer? Or your Hugo award? You’d better be able to back up that shit talking. Until then, I’m paying you because you’re apparently very good at keeping your mouth shut, but I’m starting to doubt how accurate your reviews -”

Burr’s face has gone perfectly blank. Thomas catches himself, stops, and runs a hand down his face to rub along his jaw.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry. Look, I’m really not in a good place. I’m taking it out on you. That’s shitty.”

“Yes,” Burr agrees. A muscle twitches along his jaw.

“Can we pretend that didn’t happen?” Thomas asks.

“Sure. Nothing happened. Go on about your book.”

Thomas wonders if he’s imagining the change in tone, or if it’s really there. There’s a coolness he doesn’t think was present before - although that just might be Burr taking his advice and buttoning his lip.

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you or anything. Seriously. I just get really protective over my series. My husband -” He cuts himself off, then decides, fuck it. The words are already out of his mouth. “My husband was absolutely in love with it. It’s … very important.”

Burr opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again to say, “so all the more reason to keep it safe. How long have you been together?”

Thomas hears how deliberate that question was. He hears the discordance between  _ my husband was  _ and  _ how long have you been together  _ and he  _ could  _ correct Burr, he  _ could  _ reject that small mercy, but instead he accepts it and says, “almost twenty years. Maybe closer to fifteen. I tend to estimate high.”

“You aren’t old enough to be with someone for that long. I could have sworn you weren’t a day older than thirty,” Burr says, and is that the hint of a smile ghosting over his lips?

Thomas laughs. “Let’s keep that pretense up then. I like the thought of being young again.”

“So do I,” says Burr.

That’s the first time real warmth has been there between them. Thomas savours it.

It’s nice to have an ally.

 

* * *

 

James is a cuddler. He doesn’t look like it, but the second he and Thomas get together in their sweats, James becomes some kind of awful, rude koala.

“I need to get up for more wine,” Thomas insists.

He will swear, for the rest of his life, that James Madison is one thousand percent capable of genuine, teeth-bared, hackles-raised snarling.

“If you get up,” James threatens, “you have to carry me.”

So Thomas tries. He’s not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but he can’t manage to hoist James, who isn’t exactly tiny either. “Fine. No wine for either of us,” he says. James pouts.

“Try harder.”

“I’m too old for this. I’ll slip a disc. Here.” He hands James the TV remote and says, “turn something on and distract yourself for five entire minutes. I’ll just bring the bottle with me.”

He’s barely set foot inside the kitchen when James says, “Thomas, come back. I think you need to see this.”

Thomas grabs the bottle, and then, after a moment, takes a second from the cooler under the counter. Something in James’s voice tells him he’ll need it.

He comes back just in time to catch a reporter saying, “- local author, Charles Lee, says he has decided not to pursue settlement and instead will be taking Thomas Jefferson, author of the  _ Anthophila  _ series, to court.”

“Imagine my surprise when I open  _ Hive  _ to find entire chapters ripped from my own drafts,” says Charles on the television. “And when I reach out to him he just ignores me -”

“That’s  _ bullshit!”  _ Thomas shouts. “I told him from the  _ beginning  _ if he could prove it I’d -”

“Shh,” says James.

“- only fair to get what’s owed me. It’s my intellectual property and I think -”

“I hope he drops dead,” says Thomas. “I hope he gets hit by a semi, I hope he falls in a storm drain and drowns, I -”

“- and will be represented by Alexander Hamilton, who in the past has represented such notable figures as -”

Thomas stops dead, staring at the reporter, who has come back on the screen. “What did she just say?” he asks.

“Oh, no,” says James.

“Please tell me I just spiked a fever and had a bizarre, horrifying hallucination. Please tell me I’m in a hospital bed on some kind of drip that knocked me silly -”

“Thomas, don’t you dare wish for that,” James says sharply.

“This is worse than that could  _ ever  _ be.  _ Way  _ worse,” says Thomas. “What do I do? He was bad enough by himself. At least when it was just Chuck, he was manageable. But he’s getting Hamilton involved!”

“Don’t call Hamilton,” says James.

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Yes, you were.”

“Yeah,” Thomas admits. “I was. So what do we do?”

“We call Burr,” says James.

“We can’t go running to the lawyer every time something goes sideways,” Thomas protests.

James stares hard at Thomas. “TJ,” he says, slowly, “what do you think the lawyer is  _ for? _ Did you think we started cutting him cheques just because he’s pretty and we like to look at him?”

“Who said anything about him being pretty?”

“You don’t have to say it. Call the lawyer, Thomas.”

Thomas digs for his cell phone. It takes him a moment to find it in between the cushions of the sofa, and another couple minutes to work up the courage to call Burr. By the time he finally makes the call, his hands are shaking.

It’s nearly ten PM but Burr picks up halfway through the second ring. “This is Burr,” he says, his oaken honey voice distorted by a bad connection.

“Burr. We have complications,” says Thomas. “My ex is involved.”

Burr sighs. “Involved in - the case? Why does that have anything to do with anything?”

“He’s Lee’s lawyer.”

There’s a moment of silence before Burr says, “alright, I’m coming over.”

“Anything I can fix for you for when you get here?”

“A bottle of whisky,” say Burr. “Maybe two. This is going to be an interesting night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos will encourage me to become the next tolkein. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com) and consider [buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A02514GB)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, it’s you again.” Alex snorts theatrically down the phone line. “I’m going to start blocking your numbers.”
> 
> “No, you won’t. You love the drama. I know you, Alex.” Thomas’s voice is soft, pleading. “Let him rest. Please, just let him rest. Don’t drag him back like this. He’s been gone for so long and it’s never been a problem until this whole thing with Lee.”

Thomas still has one of Gil’s journals. The first page is empty, aside from one line in Gil’s tidy script:  _ Are you really gonna love me when I’m gone? _

The rest of the book is a mystery - Thomas has never made it past that page. That’s the one thing that always stays with him, that one line; it’s the one beating raw and red in the back of his mind as he says to the lawyer, “I need to keep my coauthor safe, and this coverage isn’t helping.”

“That wasn’t information I needed,” Burr says. His voice is smooth, smokey, oaken, rich like honey or some kind of thick nectar dripping from a lacerated fruit, heavy and sweet. “That didn’t happen. You have never mentioned a coauthor as far as I’m concerned. They do not exist.”

“You didn’t tell him?” James asks, but Thomas is suddenly furious.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t exist? You can’t just dismiss him like that!” he snaps. “He was brilliant and I wouldn’t have  _ Hive  _ without him!”

Burr raises his eyebrows. “That isn’t what I meant,” he says.

“You didn’t  _ tell  _ him,” James repeats, incredulous.

Burr is still talking. “I don’t mean him any disrespect. All I mean is that he isn’t part of our case. I don’t need to know anything about him.”

“This is all for him,” says Thomas. “If he hadn’t asked me to keep  _ Hive  _ alive I would have just given up and let things get fucked over. I don’t care enough to do it for myself. I’m too - I’m too tired for this. It’s all so  _ ridiculous  _ and I’m wasting so much energy on it -”

He sits down and drags his hands over his face. “It’s all for him,” he says again. “So please at least pretend to care that he’s important to me.”

_ Are you really gonna love me when I’m gone? Are you really gonna love me when I’m gone? _

He has to keep going. What else can he do?

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until James is handing him a tissue. Thomas accepts it and scrubs the tears away from his cheeks. “Sorry,” he says. “I miss him.”

“Would you like to talk about him?” Burr asks.

“My husband. I mentioned him in your office the other day.” It’s not right, not exactly, but it’s close enough, it’s the words he used before, and there’s no taking it back now. “I lost him about ten years ago. You know, the crisis - the eighties and nineties - it was a rough time for all of us. The whole community.”

“Your husband. That’s right, you told me a little about him.” Burr pauses, then smiles. “Funny how we tend to wind up helping our own community, isn’t it? Even when we don’t explicitly set out to do so.”

Thomas blinks. Was that Burr coming out? Or was it -

“You clearly miss him very much. Is he your - ?”

“Coauthor. Yes.  _ Hive _ started as his baby.” Thomas laughs bitterly. “Only one we’ll have together. You know, the casting director asked me if I had kids and I said no. I think that was kind of a lie. This is my kid, Burr. Will you help me keep it safe?”

Burr toes his shoes off and settles on Thomas’s sofa. “Aaron, tonight,” he says. “I think we could all use some familiarity. Makes us better allies. So what are our options?”

“Convince Hamilton to work with us instead of against us, or go to trial,” says James. “And we’d like to avoid trial if at all possible, because that makes this all way more visible. I mean, it shows we aren’t backing down, but there’s always the off chance that Hamilton will pull some kind of bullshit lawyer hack and score points with the judge. It isn’t likely but it could happen. We don’t want to take that risk.”

“We have a shot with Hamilton, I think,” says Thomas.

“That’ll be a  _ long  _ shot. He and I have a bit of a rivalry - I like the man just fine, we’ve worked together in the past, but he tends to get his back up when he thinks I’m not on his side,” says Burr - says Aaron. Thomas has a moment to wonder about that history before Aaron goes on. “And he seems very firm on his stance, from what I can see. What happens if we go to court? This isn’t exactly a criminal case. It’ll be small claims. And I doubt the complainant can afford Hamilton’s rates for long, unless he’s decided to do this pro bono. Maybe we don’t need to fight Lee. Maybe we just need to wait out Hamilton.”

“He hates me. He’ll probably do anything to see  _ Hive  _ fail, even if it hits him in the wallet,” says Thomas.

“There goes that plan, then,” Aaron says. “What next?”

“I have proof that my husband didn’t want to be credited - but that outs him immediately as my co author and he wouldn’t have wanted that,” says Thomas.

“If you look at the reasons, though?” James offers. “Things are … different. There have been changes he couldn’t have foreseen. And his thoughts - the things he wanted - it can’t hurt him, Thomas.”

“Last resort. Okay? We’ll let that be the last resort. We have all the proof. Let’s just hope we don’t need to use it.” Thomas rubs his eyes. His hands feel shaky.

“I’d like to see that proof, if you don’t mind,” says Aaron.

“It’s heavy stuff,” says Thomas. “And there’s a lot of it. It’s not just his will - there’s letters. Amendments to past wills. Notes from when we were writing  _ Hive _ together. If you absolutely can’t proceed without them, I have private journals. There are a lot of documents and you’re going to need a ton of time just to sift through them.”

Aaron’s voice is warm when he answers, “I’d rather have too much information than not enough. I realize that stands in defiance of what I told you before, but - when a loved one’s protection comes into question, I begin to take things far more seriously. I was under the impression that this was strictly about copyright but I understand now that I was mistaken and this goes far deeper. I’ll take all you have for me, Thomas.”

Thomas beckons. “Come with me.”

He leads Aaron into the bedroom, pushing away the thoughts of the last few men he’s led into this room - James, bless him, being among them - and digs in his pocket for the key to the secretary’s desk standing in the corner. “If you could make copies, then give everything back,” he says as he unlocks the desk, “I’d appreciate that. Feel free to use the copier in my office and then I can just lock it all back up without this stuff leaving the house. I don’t want anything going missing.”

“Of course. If I could get some scratch paper as well, I’ll start tonight. Easier to work on this if I have you nearby for answers, and I imagine it will settle your mind somewhat if I start now,” says Aaron.

“It will,” Thomas agrees. He hands Aaron a sheaf of papers. The one on top is titled:

_ THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF GILBERT DU MOTIER. _

 

* * *

 

Thomas sneaks outside under the pretense of taking a smoke break. He knows he shouldn’t, but -

“Hamilton,” says Alex as he picks up the phone.

“What do I need to give you so that you drop this?” Thomas asks.

“Oh, it’s you again.” Alex snorts theatrically down the phone line. “I’m going to start blocking your numbers.”

“No, you won’t. You love the drama. I  _ know  _ you, Alex.” Thomas’s voice is soft, pleading. “Let him rest. Please, just let him rest. Don’t drag him back like this. He’s been gone for so long and it’s never been a problem until this whole thing with Lee.”

“It’s always been a problem. I just allowed you to get away with it until now. I’m not doing that anymore,” says Alex.

“It’s in his will,” says Thomas.

“I don’t care,” Alex snaps, and he hangs up.

 

* * *

 

Thomas comes back inside from the balcony and curls up on the sofa between James and Aaron. They’re all fairly close together, which is - kind of nice. James is still pretty cuddly and Aaron smells like something soft, something vaguely masculine without being too strong or overwhelming. Thomas wonders just how weird it would be to ask.  _ Hey, just wondering what exactly it is that you smell like  _ sounds super weird, he decides, but he’s still tempted. It’s a nice scent. Warm. Comforting.

It’s that smell that makes Thomas start to glance appreciatively at Aaron. Aaron has a bit of padding around his hips, just enough softness that Thomas wonders what it would be like to put his hands there. Aaron has beautiful full lips and deep brown eyes and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. There’s a little stubble on his jaw. Thomas wants to touch it, to see if it’s raspy or if it’s softer, more yielding.

There was warmth in Aaron’s voice when they spoke about Gil. There was compassion there. It didn’t sound like pity - Thomas has heard enough of that to know exactly what it sounds like. It sounded like kindness for the sake of kindness.

It’s refreshing.

He turns to look at James, and his expression is  _ infuriating. _ He’s got the barest hint of a smile on his lips and his eyebrows are raised, and his eyes seem to be glittering as he mouths the words,  _ caught you. _

“Hey,” he says to James, “fuck you.”

Aaron’s head jerks up. “I beg your pardon?” He says it gently but he doesn’t sound incredibly pleased.

“This asshole,” says Thomas, “is pissing me off.”

“He means that in the nicest possible way. Fuck you too, Thomas,” James says.

“Are you two doing alright?”

“He bullies me a lot,” James says by way of explanation. “You learn to live with it. Can’t last as long as we have if you can’t roll with it.”

_ James, you fucking doorknob, _ Thomas wants to say,  _ you just made it sound like we’re an item, fuck you - _

“How long have you been together?” asks Aaron, and Thomas is about to insist they aren’t when James cuts in.

“Oh, we’re not. We’ve known each other almost all our lives, though. At this point I can’t imagine dating him - we wouldn’t work well together. He bullies me too much.”

And suddenly Thomas understands why James phrased it that way. He shoots James a grateful look; James gives him the tiniest wink in response.

“Ah,” says Aaron. Thomas is still looking at James, who suddenly seems very pleased with himself.

“How’s the reading going?” Thomas asks. The topic at hand is making him uncomfortable and he needs a way out.

“Oh, it’s going fine,” says Aaron. “There’s plenty here to protect Gilbert -”

“It’s the French pronunciation, not the English one,” Thomas corrects automatically. “Soft G.”

“Gilbert, my mistake,” says Aaron, and this time he says it right. “There’s plenty to protect him and prove he didn’t want credit, but unfortunately nothing that would disprove Lee’s claims of plagiarism. I’d like drafts, if you have them. Maybe we can reference those and demand that he produce drafts as well, but anyone can type something out and claim it’s their intellectual property. This is such a subjective case. There aren’t any easy answers. It will likely just come down to me shouting down Hamilton and trying to weasel out of this.”

“So our prospects aren’t amazing,” Thomas says. He glances at the pad of paper Aaron has been writing on and is blown away by the notes he’s been taking. There must be half a dozen pages already and he isn’t slowing down.

“No,” Aaron admits, “but I’ll find something. I’m nearly done with the will - when you want me to leave, just let me know. It’s quite late already.”

“Feel free to stop whenever you’re tired,” says Thomas.

“I stay up late,” Aaron says, and he doesn’t offer any more information other than, “I don’t usually get tired when it comes to law.”

“So you’re fine with all the boring fact checking?” Thomas asks. Aaron just shrugs.

“I should sleep soon,” James says. “I’m going to spend the night, Thomas.”

“Sure, sure. Never a problem.”

James stands, stretches his shoulders, and heaves a deep sigh. “Nice to see you again, Burr,” he says. “It’s probably rude for me to check out and leave you two to your own devices but I don’t really care. Goodnight.”

Aaron watches James leave with a half smile on his lips. “Is he always like that?” he asks.”

“Worse, usually,” says Thomas. “The meaner he is, the more he likes you. He’s kind of awful.”

“And yet you still spend time with him.”

“Well, yeah. He’s my best friend,” Thomas says.

Aaron’s half smile breaks into a full smile. “Cute,” he says. 

Thomas grins. “If that’s your opinion of cute, you and I have very different definitions of the word.”

“Your friendship, I mean. It’s nice to have someone like that by your side.”

Thomas looks at Aaron and chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. He thinks about the soft lines of his body, the curve of his lips, the deep brown of his eyes, the rich oaken tone of his voice. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying to remind himself that he knows nothing about this reticent man. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos water my crops and clear my skin. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Give me some of your judgement, baby,” Thomas whispers. “Let me get through this without making too many obvious mistakes.”

They’ve found the main character, finally. Chris doesn’t exactly fit the role the way Thomas envisioned - for starters, he’s got locs instead of a ponytail of tight curls, and he’s more muscular than Ridley was supposed to be. Stacked, Gil might have said. Shredded. Jacked. Ripped.

That’s fine, though - he has the deep brown eyes, the clever hands, the sweet smile, the soft growly voice that Thomas wanted. “He could be a voice double for you,” Eliza teases him over a cup of coffee. “If you ever get sick of doing your own interviews, just send him in.”

“You won’t believe it, but Ridley isn’t based on me,” says Thomas. His feet are tucked under him in his armchair. The two of them are sitting in Eliza’s office, which is painted a soft blue and hung with framed paintings done by a child. Thomas wonders who that child is but doesn’t bother to ask. He remembers that Eliza has at least two kids; he doesn’t need any more information than that. It’s too much effort to pretend to be interested in tiny humans.

“You’re right. I don’t believe it. Who is he based on, if not you? You describe him, like, as a clone of you. I’m not the only one who thinks so,” she replies.

“Think what you want,” he says. “Who’s doing his stunts? Do we need to search for another guy who looks like him? ‘Cause I don’t know that we’ll find anyone built like that.”

“He’s doing his own. He’s in good hands. The stunt guy, John, has been doing this since he was a toddler, practically.”

“Haven’t met him,” Thomas says. “But I trust your judgement. Anything else you need before I disappear again to sell my soul to scriptwriting?”

“Nah,” Eliza tells him, “you go take a break. I’ll see you when we cast for the second season, right?”

Thomas grins. “You bet. And the third, and the fourth.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” Eliza cautions him.

“It’s a sure thing. I’m a genius and _Hive_ will live forever.” He stands and crosses to the door. “Thanks for everything, Eliza. It’s been a time.”

“No problem, TJ. See you soon, alright?”

“Got it.” He waves at her, then shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

 

* * *

 

Thomas’s phone rings. He glances at the caller ID and then has to take a second look, because at first he doesn’t believe his eyes when he reads _Hamilton_ flashing on his screen.

With slightly shaking hands, he picks up, puts the phone to his ear, and says, “hey,” in a soft voice.

“My client is willing to settle,” says Hamilton.

“Talk to my lawyer,” Thomas says.

“Nope. Not going through him. I’m talking to you.”

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you, Alex. I offered to settle with him before and he refused outright, and now that you’re involved he’s suddenly open to the idea? I don’t buy it. There’s something going on here that I don’t like and I want my lawyer to be present,” Thomas says. He’s surprised at how level his voice is.

“I’m trying to do you a favour, Thomas,” says Alex. “At least hear me out.”

“Full offense but I don’t trust that at all. I don’t know why you seem to hate me so much but I don’t think it’s worth all this. This is unwarranted and cruel.” Thomas draws in a sharp breath and continues, “you’re dragging up so much painful history and it’s really unnecessary. I _hate_ the way this makes me think of him. I don’t want to resent him or his choices, Alex. You drafted his will and then witnessed the signing and you’re still doing this? You _know_ what he wanted. He told you.”

“Maybe he was influenced,” Alex says.

“Are you implying that, while my husband was _dying,_ I strong armed him into giving up his rights? Are you _serious,_ Alex?”

“You were never married,” says Alex. “And I would have been there too, except -”

“Except you left us to marry someone else. That was _your_ choice. And I don’t blame you for it, but you’re the one who made that choice to go and leave me to take care of him by myself.”

“Don’t lie to me, Thomas. I know you resent me for leaving. You’ll never forgive me for it.”

Thomas is silent for a moment. “I know you were scared,” he says finally. “I know you thought it was going to happen to you, too. But it didn’t, and you’re here, and the both of us can keep him alive. Help me keep him alive. If you ruin _Hive,_ he dies again.”

Just like that, Alex is furious. “I didn’t kill him. I’m not the reason he’s dead. I’m not doing _anything_ but trying to get his name out there, and if I need to piggyback on Lee’s accusations to do that, then I will.”

“This will kill _Hive._ You know it will.”

“You’re the one this should be killing,” Alex snaps, and he hangs up.

 

* * *

 

Aaron comes over, armed with a bottle of scotch and a briefcase full of notes. “This,” he says, as he hands Thomas the scotch, “is to replace what I drank the other night, and this,” he adds, patting his briefcase, “is our case.”

“That’s great. Make yourself comfortable. You want some of this? May as well crack open the bottle,” says Thomas. He can’t help looking Aaron over. The man is wearing a charcoal suit with an impeccably knotted tie, and his hair is buzzed neatly down to almost nothing. There’s that oaken honey voice again, the one that Thomas has been thinking about since their last meeting.

“Yes, please,” says Aaron. Thomas can’t tear his gaze away from Aaron’s lips.

He wonders if this attraction is just because he wants to win and knows Aaron is his best chance, or if this is real interest. It should be easier to tell but there’s so much mixed up in his mind - fear, apprehension, hope, disgust at himself and at Alex. There’s grief too, grief he thought he was long past, but apparently he’ll never leave Gil behind. It’s almost comforting to be grieving again. This, at least, he knows how to do.

Thomas fixates on the tie instead of allowing himself to go down that path. Aaron settles himself at the kitchen table, puts on a pair of reading glasses and spreads his notes out, organizing them in a way Thomas can’t comprehend. He stares at that tie and muses on the knot. How long did it take to get it that perfect? he wonders. Does he retie it several times? Or are his fingers just clever enough to do it perfectly on the first pass? Thomas hasn’t worn a tie in several years - he hates them, hates the restriction on his breathing, hates the way they feel hanging around his neck. Ties are funereal.

On Aaron, though, the tie looks good. It looks like it belongs. Thomas parts his lips a little and closes his eyes, just for a moment. He thinks of Gil wearing a tie. He doesn’t _want_ to think of the last time he saw Gil wearing a tie. Just focusing on Aaron wearing his tie - that’s better, that’s safer. Aaron is alive, fluid and calm and methodical, a man with clever hands and a clever tongue, a man who looks flawless without seeming to make the slightest effort. Thomas glances down at the rumpled jeans and threadbare t-shirt he’s wearing and feels a little embarrassed.

He open the bottle, puts a glass in front of Aaron, pours a little scotch into it, and leans against the table. “Did you find anything?”

“I’m not really getting anywhere new, but there was something interesting here. He hinted at leaving letters,” says Aaron. “Is there anything in those?”

Thomas swallows.

“He says -” Aaron flips through one of the stacks of papers in front of him on the table. “He says that there are letters for you and Hamilton, and that they explain everything. Are they available?”

“I never found them,” Thomas says. The lie rolls easily off his tongue. There’s nothing unusual in his tone - he’s surprised at how level his voice is, how convincing he sounds.

“Mm. Well, if you find them, it might be helpful. I imagine it would be hard to share something that intimate, but if you’re able to, it could help our case.” Aaron looks Thomas in the eye and Thomas stares levelly back, but he feels a little chill of embarrassment. Aaron looks like he knows exactly what Thomas just did.

“If I find them, you’ll be the first to know,” says Thomas. “Is there anything you need from me right now? Should I call my manager? He might have a fresh perspective. He usually does.” It’s an obvious deflection. Thomas can see a little lift in Aaron’s eyebrows and a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips.

“If you’d like,” he says, so Thomas texts James - a simple _hey wyd come over_ \- and then pulls out a chair and pours his own glass of scotch.

“So,” he says, as he sits and swirls the scotch in his glass, “I’ve been thinking.”

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself,” says Aaron.

“Ha. Very funny. Do you want to hear my thoughts or not?”

“Do I have a choice?” Aaron glances up, smiling a little. For him, that seems to be the equivalent of shrieking with laughter.

“Nope. My house, my rules,” Thomas tells him. “Look - I don’t know if you’ve felt it, but I think there’s some chemistry here.”

“Thomas,” Aaron says, in a warning tone.

“No, seriously. Hear me out.” He swallows against a lump in his throat. He can almost imagine Gil laughing at him for this - as usual, he’s jumping into something he’s not even sure if he wants. Something in him aches.

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“Just listen. If you’d like to go out to dinner sometime, on me, I’d love that,” says Thomas. “Not just as a thank you for all of this, but in the hopes of -”

Aaron clears his throat loudly enough that Thomas stops talking. He takes a sip of his scotch, shuffles the papers in front of him, and says, “If this continues I would be well within my rights to consider it a conflict of interest and therefore a breach of ethics to continue with this case.”

“Does that mean you’re interested?” Thomas asks.

“Thomas,” says Aaron. “Are you sure you want to ask what I know you’re going to ask?” Thomas opens his mouth to answer, but Aaron holds up a hand. “Keep in mind you don’t know if I’m going to accept your invitation. What means more to you, the case or a date?”

“That depends on if you’re going to say yes,” Thomas says, with what he hopes is a cocky yet alluring tone of voice.

Aaron stares at him. He blinks slowly and removes his glasses. “It’s up to you, Thomas,” he says. “You can ask, but I’ll have to drop this case. I’m afraid that I simply can’t allow myself, morally, to mix myself up in any kind of emotional entanglement, regardless of whether or not it’s one sided.”

“That says it all, then,” Thomas says.

Aaron doesn't reply for a long moment. “If you’d prefer, we can pretend this never happened,” he says at last.

Thomas feels a little sick to his stomach. The embarrassment claws its way up his neck, a tight, damp heat that constricts his throat a little. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “That would be great. Thanks.”

It’s at that precise moment that James chooses to let himself into Thomas’s place. “I brought pizza,” he says, as he tosses the box onto the table and shucks his jacket. “Hey, Thomas, what are you squirming about? I heard you cast Ridley today. Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”

“Yeah,” says Thomas, pointedly avoiding looking at Aaron. “Yeah, let’s celebrate. Give me a minute?”

“Of course,” says Aaron, not unkindly. Thomas excuses himself and walks to his bedroom as fast as he can without looking like he’s running. He shuts the door behind him, unlocks the secretary’s desk, and flips open Gil’s journal to that one line: _Are you really gonna love me when I’m gone?_

Clipped to the inside of the cover are two envelopes. One reads _Thomas Jefferson,_ the other reads _Alex Hamilton,_ both in Gil’s loopy, sprawling script. Thomas touches the envelope bearing his name with just the tips of his fingers. He can keep his little secrets and take his chances - but there might be something in here that does them some good with this case. Who cares if it means handing a near-stranger - one who has just snubbed him, no less - the most intimate parts of Gil’s soul? What is there left of him to protect, other than _Hive?_

“Give me some of your judgement, baby,” he whispers. “Let me get through this without making too many obvious mistakes.”

There’s no answer, but the names on the envelope mock him. He unclips them from the journal, slips them into a drawer inside the desk, takes a deep breath, and lets himself out of his bedroom.

“Aaron,” he says, holding up the journal as he comes back into the kitchen, “there’s something here that might help too.”

He feels sick to his stomach, handing the journal over. It’s like handing the last wisps of Gil’s ghost over.

But it’s worth it, he tries to convince himself, if it helps, even a little, with the case.

It’s so easy to forget that being a good author doesn’t make you a good liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos feed me pizza. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
